Born & Bred (21 page)

“I know. I just don’t know how I feel about it yet.”

“What’s to feel? The kid’s in trouble and needs your help. We can bring him out here where he will be safe.”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s to know? Nobody will be able to get to him here. If they try—they’ll have me to deal with. Me and a few brothers. I’m from Kingston, man. I know how to look out for my own.”

Martin almost laughed. David came from the richest part of town but liked to talk tough, even though he was so soft inside. “I thought your family was rich.”

“We are but we have cousins who live down around Tivoli Gardens.”

“That sounds like a real tough neighborhood, almost as scary as Rosedale, or Forest Hill.”

“Trust me, Toastie, Tivoli Gardens is Hell. People get shot down there for nothing. You look at someone the wrong way and bang, you got yourself another hole in your head.” David grew more animated as he spoke. His large broad chest rippled and his face acted out each word.

Martin ran his white fingers gently across David’s dark skin. He had a way of making Martin feel that everything would be all right. He used to sing it to him, too, in his best Bob Marley voice: “‘Cause every little thing’s gonna be all right!”

“But where is he going to stay? He can’t stay with us.”

“Why not? He’s family, man. You look after family.”

“Not mine.”

“What are you talking about? He’s your nephew and he needs a place to start again. He can stay here until he gets set up.”

Martin sat up and wrapped the sheets around his torso, turning his back on his lover.

“They don’t know about us?” David asked in a softer voice. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“No. They don’t”

“What? Are you afraid that they might be shocked because I’m black?”

“No! They’ll be so shocked that you’re a man that I’m hoping they’ll overlook that.”

“Toastie, you’re one screwed up little Catholic boy. That’s why I love you.”

“I thought it was because I have such a cute ass.”

“That too, but there is nothing sweeter than doing it with a Catholic boy. It just makes it all so much more sinful.”

“How many Catholic boys have there been.”

“You’re my first.”

“And the last?”

“Maybe. Is your nephew . . . ?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Martin feigned outrage and stormed off to shower but he left the door open for David to follow.

CHAPTER 11

Deirdre was looking out her window the night Danny walked past. She had been smoking a joint and didn’t want the smell in her room. She had almost called out but she couldn’t do that to him—he had enough problems to deal with—so she edged away from the window and hoped he hadn’t noticed. She still wasn’t ready to face him after the way she had behaved after their infamous night.

**

After they had been taken from the church, wrapped in blankets to hide their immodesty, her father came to the Garda station. He didn’t even speak to her as he dealt with the Guards. Her mother stood between them, interceding for peace, at least until they got home. She even took Deirdre aside and urged her to stay silent until she had a chance to work on him.

By the next morning her mother had done it and convinced him that it was all Danny’s fault, that he had led Deirdre astray. She agreed with him that it was shameful and a blot on the good name of the family that he had worked so hard for, but that no permanent harm had been done.

He was somewhat appeased by that but warned that if he ran into Danny, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. And even as he mentioned Danny’s name, he became enraged again until Fr. Reilly dropped by.

The priest had gratefully accepted the tea that Deirdre’s mother offered, admitting that he was almost worn out having been called from his bed in the middle of the night.

**

He had declined the car, choosing instead to take his bike. He had wanted to think along the way—to sort out how he was going to deliver the news. Fr. Brennan had told him it would be better coming from the curate, rather than the parish priest, but he couldn’t help feel that the old man was shirking his responsibilities.

Patrick hadn’t been to the Boyle’s house since Nora’s wake and was taken aback. Even in the yellowish glow of the streetlights he could see how neglected the garden had become. Nora Boyle’s years of attention were being lost to the rush of weeds and litter. He pressed the doorbell and waited. It was late and they would be in bed. After the second ring a sleepy voice called from a window above.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Father Reilly. Can I come in?”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, I have news that would be better discussed inside.”

“Hold on a minute then, Father. We’ll be right down.”

They both looked terrible, puffy faced and bedraggled. Jacinta clutched her tatty robe close to her as she led him into the kitchen where Jerry scratched himself absentmindedly and rummaged around until he found a cigarette.

“Well, Father,” he asked as he exhaled. “What brings you by at this hour?”

“It’s about Danny.”

“What’s that little brat gone and done now?”

“How do you know,” Jacinta snapped over her shoulder, as she fussed with the teapot, “that he has done anything? Did you ever think that something might have happened to him, through no fault of his own?”

“Well,” Fr. Reilly interceded and chose his words carefully. “I’m afraid he has gone and done something rather foolish. But he’s all right. He’s safe and sound but the Guards have him.”

“Ah sweet Jesus. Why?”

“Well, they were called to the church after somebody noticed that it had been broken into. They went in and found Danny inside.”

“What was he doing there?”

“He was singing
Jesus Christ Superstar
.”

“Ah well, he has become very musical since he got his guitar,” Jacinta poured their tea and settled behind her own cup.

“Is there more?” Jerry flicked the ash from his cigarette but missed the ashtray. He leaned forward and blew it away, almost into their cups.

“I’m afraid there is.” Fr. Reilly moved his cup to his lap. “When the Guards found him he was standing on the altar in nothing but his underwear.”

“Were they his holey ones?”

“Hush you and don’t be making a joke out of it. This is terrible news, Father.”

“Sure what harm was there?”

“Well, there’s more. It seems there was a young lady there, too. She was in her underwear also, and told the Guards that she was Mary Magdalene. The two of them were singing and dancing around like pagans. The Guards think they might have been high on drugs.”

“God save us.” Jacinta blessed herself and retrieved her cigarette pack and lit one.

“But there was no real harm done, was there, Father?” Jerry pulled the cigarette pack toward him.

“Well, Father Brennan is concerned about the blasphemous nature of the thing. He is very upset and is talking excommunication.”

“God save us,” Jacinta repeated and blessed herself with her cigarette.

“Will there be any charges?” Jerry asked as his eyes narrowed.

“Well, the Bishop will have to be involved but I will try to have a word with him. He’s a very decent man and I’m sure that he’ll be able to see his way to having a bit of mercy—for your late mother’s sake, if nothing else.”

“And well he should after all the money she gave to the Church.”

“Don’t be talking like that in front of the priest.”

“Why not? I’m just saying, you know?”

Fr. Reilly sipped his tea and wished he could take more command of situations like this. It was a very serious matter, though Jerry didn’t seem to think so. But he had done what he came to do—to deliver the bad news. “I should be off, I suppose, unless you need me for anything?”

“No, Father. But thank you so much for coming to tell us. I suppose we should go down to the Garda station?”

“Well, if you want my advice—I’d wait until morning. The Guards want to hold him until then. They want to try to scare a bit of sense into him.”

“They won’t beat him, will they Father?”

“It won’t do him a bit of harm if they did.”

“Don’t you be talking like that. This is your own flesh and blood we’re talking about.”

“I don’t think Danny will come to any harm,” Fr. Reilly assured her as he rose to take his leave. “And if you don’t mind me saying, it might be better if you both got a bit of sleep and came to it fresh in the morning?”

But Jerry and Jacinta were already squaring up to each other.

“I’ll just let myself out then?”

“Fair enough, Father,” Jerry rose and walked him to the door.

“Will Mrs. Boyle be all right?”

“She will, Father, after she’s had a chance to digest it all.”

“Well, don’t hesitate to call me if there’s anything I can do.”

“We will, Father, and thanks very much for coming to tell us.”

As Fr. Reilly wheeled his bike down the drive he could hear the two of them tear into each other.

He yawned as the eastern sky lightened and the hedgerows began to chirp. There was no point in going back to bed when he got home. Instead, he’d have another cup of tea before he had to go with Fr. Brennan to face the Bishop.

Later on he’d have to drop in on the girl’s family.

**

“It’s a bad business,” the Bishop had concluded as he sipped his coffee. He had listened impassively as the two priests laid the story before him. The Garda Sergeant had called him, too, and almost seemed to enjoy breaking the news. “And it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

The National Coalition was straining the ties that bound Church and State. The voting on the Contraception Bill had been far too close and needed the
Taoiseach
, and a few others, to vote against their own party. There was even talk of changing the Constitution, too, of giving up the claim on the North. The country was going to the dogs and the last thing he needed was for this to attract the eye of one of those civil liberty lawyer types. It was better that they dealt with it behind closed doors.

Fr. Brennan wanted excommunication, and, if he were given kindling and matches, a public burning at the stake.

“I understand your position on this, Father, but I wonder if it’s not an opportunity, too.”

“Your Grace?”

“Well, Father. Perhaps it’s a chance for us to show God’s mercy?”

Fr. Brennan lowered his head so his face couldn’t be read. He knew the Bishop well enough, his words were never chosen without consideration. Nor were they open for debate. The Bishop was gently telling them the course they would follow, regardless of how they might feel about it.

“Yes,” the Bishop continued after noting his priest’s concession. “We can offer this poor, confused lad a chance to redeem himself. I will talk with the Guards, and, instead of laying charges, we will offer to have the boy come and do some work around the church. We can say that we are giving him the chance to atone for his misdeeds. It will allow him to reflect on what he has done and we can give him the chance to offer restitution.”

“And what do you have in mind, Your Grace?” Fr. Reilly also knew his uncle well.

“If young Boyle is willing to pay restitution to the church then we can consider the matter closed. He can pay in service. I’m sure, Father Brennan, that you and Father Reilly can find some work for him to do?”

“If that’s what Your Grace would wish of us,” Fr. Brennan agreed as he made a mental list of tasks for the young and errant Boyle. He was going to have to hire a man to help with odd jobs around the church as old O’Leary was no longer capable and no one else was willing to offer their time. Perhaps this might work out well for all concerned.

“It’s not what I would wish, my friend, but what the Holy Shepard would expect from us. We must show some leadership in these changing times and we must show that we can be compassionate, even against those that harm us.”

The parish priest and his curate nodded together and the Bishop leaned back and smiled. “Thank you, my friends, for being so accommodating on this matter. I will speak to the Guards and have them make the position clear to young Boyle.”

“Would you mind,” his nephew asked, “if I could be given the responsibility of looking after him?” Fr. Reilly didn’t want Fr. Brennan dealing with him; he didn’t think he was well enough.

The Bishop gazed at his nephew while he weighed the options. “I would prefer if both of you dealt with him; it would look more formal. And now gentlemen if you’d excuse me, I have another appointment.”

The Bishop closed his office door as the two men left. It was a bad business but it might all work out for the better. His nephew would have a chance to show his mettle, under the supervision of Fr. Brennan. The older man was ready to be put out to pasture and a new parish priest had to be found. He would have preferred not to consider his own nephew given his history with the boy and it was far too papal, but the field of candidates was getting smaller every year.

Perhaps you could give me a sign?
he nodded toward the crucifix on his wall.

**

Fr. Reilly, too, had prayed for direction as he approached Deirdre’s house. The mother would be fine but the father could be a bit of a handful, especially when he got angry. Most people just stayed away from him when he was like that, but Fr. Reilly couldn’t. He had to go in. He rang the doorbell and composed himself. It was all in a day’s work.

“Good man yourself, Father.” Deirdre’s father greeted him and led him into the drawing room where his wife and daughter sat primly on the settee. “The missus and I will just go into the kitchen and make a pot of tea while this one,” he nodded toward Deirdre, “gets down on her knees and makes her confession.”

“I think,” Fr. Reilly hesitated, “that we should just have a little chat, first, and then see where we need to go from there.”

“Chat?” her father humphed as he left the room.

“It might be better,” Deirdre’s mother whispered as she followed, “if you returned her to a state of grace—in case himself kills her altogether.”